


Of Dogs and Cat Blankets

by Foodmoon



Series: Of Tea and Glitter Guns and Cats [15]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Dog statue, Felines, Gen, Grieving James, Misunderstandings, Overworked Q, Retirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 15:43:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16997862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foodmoon/pseuds/Foodmoon
Summary: Q doesn't understand why his apartment is being occupied by sulky agents.James doesn't understand how Q can be so cavalier about M's death.





	Of Dogs and Cat Blankets

**Author's Note:**

> I think there were going to be more fics in this series, but I only wrote down two, and can't remember what the others would be now. So I'm sorry if it seems like an odd time jump. I'm have one more planned to wrap up this series.
> 
> As always, you are welcome to write off my ideas if you wish. I like seeing what different people do with the same ideas.
> 
> It's been a long time, folks. Sorry it took so long.

James stares at the ugly dog statue in his hand, then turns on his heel and walks away. He doesn’t mind the destruction of his family estate too much, too many old memories. And he _definitely_ doesn’t regret Silva’s death, the traitor. But…

He swallows hard and keeps walking.

~

Alec takes one look at the ugly, cherished statue of M’s in James’ hand and James’ doleful expression and promptly slams his fist into a nearby wall, muttering curses in Russian. He _knew_ the old woman had been injured, but he hadn’t expected her to _die_.

She’d been a second mother to James despite their differences, and James is an _idiot_. Given half a chance, he’ll drink himself blind over this. And do his best to get himself killed ‘in the line of duty’ or drunkenly busting up some low dive. By his expression he doesn’t care much at this point.

And Q will kill them _both_ , if Alec lets him. _Dammit_.

“I’ll drive.”

It’s a measure of how bad off James is that he tosses Alec his keys without protest, keeping his white knuckled grip on the dog statue thing.

~

“What’s wrong with the pair of you?” Q snaps at the moping agents currently occupying his couch with his cats occupying their laps like the furry divas they are.

“M.” Alec says shortly.

“Oh. Yes, I can’t say I’m looking forward to finding out who they decide to replace her with.” Q grouses, and goes to the kitchen to make tea. It makes sense that these two would take it harder than the rest of the agents. He supposes that it will take them a while to get over it.

He can’t really say _he’s_ over it, after all. Between that and the utter mess Silva made of headquarters, his job is twice as hard as usual and that’s even _without_ being shorthanded. Which he is. Because a third of his department is dead or too injured to work due to Silva and his god-complex, and another fifth is working even though they shouldn’t be because _they_ are injured too, but they don’t have enough hands available to _give_ them the time off to recover properly. The cafeteria is ordering takeout, since their facilities have been destroyed, and hand delivering it to Q’s department, because everyone’s too busy to take time to order their own and they’d be living on tea and catnaps otherwise.

~

A week and a half later, and only the third time he’s managed to stumble home in that time, Q squints at Alec sacked out on his couch and wonders vaguely if the man has even managed to change his clothes. Deciding he’s too tired to care, he trudges into his bedroom and scowls at the lump occupying most of his bed, covered in blankets and feline furballs.

_James better have been taking showers at least, or he’s going to evict him for desecrating his bed with his reek!_

Speaking of which…yeah, he definitely needs a shower himself.

~

Q wrinkles his nose. _James definitely needs a shower._ Now that he’s not encased in his own miasma, he can smell James right through the bedcovers that he’s refusing to stick his nose out from under.

“Really, James? Don’t you think you’re being a little melodramatic?”

He’s not sure if the sound he receives in return is a ‘no’ or a growl.

“Look. I know you care for M a lot and you’re having trouble adjusting to the notion of working with someone else, but honestly, you’re acting like a sulky toddler.” He snaps, fed up. Shooing the cats off, he yanks back the covers. “Get up. Take a shower. You smell. My bed smells _because_ of you and I’ve been smelling myself long enough I want to sleep in a clean bed.”

James pulls a pillow over his head in stubborn defiance.

Q glowers for a moment, then yells, _“Alec!”_

There’s a thump, a groan, and several more minor thumps interspersed with curses before Alec barges into the bedroom, looking half-asleep and wild-eyed. “What? What is it?”

“Drag this lump into the shower and get him clean so I can change the linens.

~

By the time James comes back, dripping wet and sulking, Q has managed to strip the bed without killing himself, and is trying to make it again with the _oh so helpful_ assistance of his cats. The smelly bedding tossed in a careless giant wad in the hall because he doesn’t want to smell it and washing it is too much trouble for his current level of exhaustion.

Q realizes that he has the bottom sheet on the wrong side up and swears, then shoots James a glare. “Help me, you giant toddler, or you can sleep on the bloody floor.”

James raises both brows eloquently, but silently steps forwards to help instead of watching and pouting.

When the bed is finally made _(with military precision, thanks James),_ Q crawls between the covers to get some well-deserved sleep.

“For the record,” James finally deigns to say in a chilly tone, as Alec finally emerges from the shower, toweling his hair dry. “I resent your assessment on what my feelings for M should be.”

Alec freezes for a split second before going back to toweling his hair with false casualness, his gaze darting between them alertly.

 _“Oh, bloody fucking hell, James!”_ Q exclaims in exasperation. _“Give it a rest. The pair of you are acting like she died instead of retiring to Hawaii!_ Objection fucking noted. Now I’m _going to sleep!_ ”

There is blessed, blessed silence in return, and Q gratefully closes his eyes and starts drifting off.

“She _what!?”_

_“She’s alive!?”_

Q opens his eyes and treats them to a vicious glower. “Yes. Hawaii. Retired. Now _go away!”_

Determinedly he shuts his eyes again, ignoring the low, sharp comments the two agents are exchanging, then notes the click of the light going off and the door shutting as they exit.

_They’d best reset his security system before they leave, or he’ll make them regret it._

_Tomorrow. Or maybe next year after he catches up on his rest._

_Bloody spies._


End file.
